Sunday, January 26, 2014

DAVOS,
Switzerland – Davos’ brand is truly global. Come here and see 40 heads of
state, 350 senior public officials, and 1000 industry titans, or Eric Schmidt,
Bono, and Bill Gates. Or walk into a small bar off a hotel lobby (if you're wearing the exclusive wrist band, which grants entry) and listen to Mary J. Blige belt out “Just Fine.”

The
reality of Davos is that, plus this: Deals in the side rooms, grumpy stars on
stage, parties atop mountains, broadcasters on a rooftop in white tents, pure
white snow-capped peaks against blue sky, and, for me, a few moments away from
all of it.

This
was my first trip to the World Economic Forum and all I really knew ahead of
time was that it brought together entrepreneurs, rock stars, development
leaders in an atmosphere of sheer excess. That excess (some took a $10,000
helicopter ride from Zurich to Davos to get here; not me) was tempered by what
organizers said was a record of results – new ideas were cooked at Davos that
ended up doing great good.

This
year’s Davos focused on battling income inequality. There was a great deal of
talk around inequality, and there was a great deal of head-turning in the
hallways: In a span of 10 minutes, I saw Iran President Hassan Rouhani , a
phalanx of Israeli Shin Bet security, Mary Robinson, and Bono. The truth: It
was hard to stay focused.

Walking
through the hallways had the feel of speed dating your exs, or attending your high
school reunion, with a maximum of 20 seconds per person, no time to get beyond what
you were doing or where you were. The smart Davos-goer had
back-to-back-to-back, all day long, 15 minute meetings (max), with five minutes
in between to get to each meeting. Bartenders served non-stop double cappuccinos
and espresos; other patrons seemed high on something else.

At the
end of the work day, 8 p.m., all I felt like doing was lying down in bed. But I
knew at night, the World Economic Forum week at Davos picks up. Parties sprinkle
the town. You could crash a dozen, drink until dawn.

I
didn’t have the tickets to the hottest parties – the ones thrown by Google that
featured Mary J. Blige in a small bar off my hotel lobby, or Bono’s and Bill
Gates’ mountainside shindig. I had other prospects, but I also had an anti-Davos
idea: a night run through the valley.

At 9
p.m., I laced up my shoes, put on my windbreaker, winter-weight running pants,
hat, and gloves, and made my way off our little hilltop onto a hard-packed
trail that I had run in the morning a day earlier. Hours ago, cross-country
skiers swooshedpast on perfectly
groomed tracks, while walkers (many with dogs) walked on a parallel packed
trail that skirted Davos’ small downtown.

At night,
though, with patchy clouds overhead revealing a bowl of mountains around me, I
was alone. I ran across an open field,
the only sounds being the crunch of my shoes and my light breath. The trail
hugged a fast-running stream and then I veered off onto a trail that went
straight up into the forest.

It was
dark. Icicles hung like sinewy beards from pine trees. The trees formed a crown
over the path. The only light was the snow underfoot and that was dim. I felt almost
blind. I came to a downhill and quickened my stride, a gamble, but it felt good,
and I ran even harder, taking long strides.. I trusted the snow and my balance,
and I stayed upright into the valley.

Even in
the wide expanse, the clouds cast shadows, and I felt invisible. To my right, I
sensed something near, some motion, and I turned my head. Suddenly, large black
objects swooped near, 30 feet away, closer still. I stumbled. In a moment, I
knew could see their outlines – deer. Huge deer. Four of them. They charged
right past me.

One
hundred feet ahead, they stopped. One turned to me. I ran toward them and,
spooked, they headed to higher ground, night monsters fading into dark shapes,
then gone.

Ten
minutes later, I was back outside my hotel. Swiss soldiers checked my ID. (5000
came to guard Davos this past week, including snipers on roofs). I asked one about
the deer and he said to his friends: Where’s my gun! They laughed as I headed
inside. A hotel porter told me that he had seen deer from time to time.

“It was
good you exercised,” he said. “Otherwise, you would not have seen them.”

It’s
true. I failed to have the true Davos experience. No Mary J. Blige for me. My highlight was a moment of running with four deer in the dark.

Saturday, January 11, 2014

BEIRUT, Lebanon – I thought the
bombings here in recent weeks would put me on a treadmill.

But when I asked security experts
here about going out for a run, they immediately said, No problem. Go to the Corniche.

The Corniche, a seaside promenade
built during the French Mandate period of present-day Syria and Lebanon
following World War I, hugs the coastline for about five kilometers. It is
lined with palm trees that are pock-marked by bullet holes from the Lebanese
Civil War, which lasted from 1975 to 1990.

Today, Beirut is experiencing no
shootouts (Tripoli, in the north, is another matter), but there are bombings,
including one that went off in south Beirut about three hours before landing
here. I learned of it when I switched on my Blackberry as I walked toward
Immigration. As my driver would say, “Welcome to Lebanon.”

The Syrian conflict is spilling
into Lebanon in multiple ways, including more than 1 million refugees fleeing
across the border (a quarter of the population now here is Syrian); air strikes
along the border line; rebel fighters going back and forth; and bombings and
assassinations carried out in Beirut – tied, of course, to actions taken in the
war next door.

People are resilient in Beirut. People
famously go out to bars and nightclubs soon after an attack. But the feeling in
Beirut today is tinged with fear. After only a few days here, it is clear that
many are shaken by the frequency of the bombings, and the unpredictability of them.
My driver, for instance, whose apartment is near the most recent bombings, has
two girls – a fifth and first grader – and the first thing he tells me in the
mornings is an update about talks with a relative in Dubai. He is making plans
to send his girls there. “You are here one day, five days, 10 days,” he said to
me one morning. “But my daughters are here every day. I can’t risk it.”

So why run here?

Each morning, over the span over a
few hours, hundreds of people walk, run, and bike along the Corniche. Teams
play aggressive badminton with wooden paddles, the sharp sounds echoing above
the traffic. Old men share small cups of espresso. Middle-aged moms speed walk,
their white little dogs struggling to keep up.Fishermen lean over the railings with 20-foot-long poles and long for a
bite. Polar-bear swimmers take brave strokes in the frigid ocean; some yelled
in Arabic to the heavens after their plunge.

Alhamdulillah!
Praise to God.

It’s a place of life and
exhilaration. And it’s a place where many others weighed the risks of running
or walking and decided to go.

I’m traveling with my daughter,
Paige, who came to work on a project involving Syrian artists in exile. She is
a much faster runner than I am – she’s in the midst of training for her college
track team – and we decided to venture out together. The safety factor evened
the scales in my favor. She would slow down so that we could run together.

We just finished our fifth and last
day of runs along the Corniche, sticking to the same route each day. The air was
not the best; the cars passed close. The pace was good, mine. At dawn, the view
was memorable – pink streaks over the Mediterranean to the west, and
snow-capped Mount Lebanon to the east. We dodged groups of walkers, who are
bundled up in the 50-degree mornings, wearing hats, gloves, sweatpants, and
sweatshirts, chatting so much they don’t notice us. They were often five and
six across, linked arm in arm, comrades perhaps.

After each run, we returned feeling
physically great, blood circulating, muscles stretched out. Yet we also returned
with some wariness. On the Corniche, I was not only looking for beauty or a moment
that said something about the place. My eyes also searched for anything amiss
that signaled danger; I stiffened once when a group of young men walked toward
us from the street. I knew there was a risk, even if miniscule.

It was great to be out in Beirut,
not a place like most to explore by running, but rather a run that explored a
sliver of a place. Still, I gladly accept my blessings. We were given a few
here.